A Matter of Ladders
by Belfast Docks
Summary: What is a marriage without the occasional argument, or the making up afterwards? Taran/Eilonwy, Lemon.


**Author's Note:** Another random idea taking place after _The High King_. Rated M to be on the safe side of things.

BD

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**A Matter of Ladders**

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The white stones of Caer Dathyl were slowly rising to the sky again, though at present, only two of the once-proud walls had been completely erected anew, and those painstakingly by the able-bodied men who were available to help. The other walls were in progress, but they were not as high as they needed to be yet, and it would be a long time - perhaps even a couple of years - before the castle was completely finished. But at least the rebuilding had begun; that was the important thing.

Still, at the immediate moment, she was more interested in the solitary figure that was currently standing on _top_ of the western wall, than the walls themselves.

He was poised as though the sixty-foot drop to the ground did not bother him in the least, and he was gazing across the wide valley and the regal mountains towards a brilliant, sinking sunset. His tanned chest and strong arms were bathed in burning, golden-orange light, and his breeches were snug on his lower body, tucked into dusty, knee-high boots. A light breeze tousled his thick hair, which was getting a bit long on his neck as summer wore on, and his belt and sword hung low on his hips. Just the sight of him sent delicious tingles down her arms, but as her mind started to drift into a pleasant daydream (the first of the entire day, actually), a voice suddenly jolted her thoughts.

"The Wanderer is handsome, isn't he? Where I a young girl again, I verily believe I would be head over heels."

Eilonwy tensed. She had been gazing in a dreamy, longing sort of way, mixed with a bit of pride and a surge of indignant irritation at the same time – and furthermore, she had completely forgotten her surroundings. She was standing by a well at the edge of the forest that surrounded the former Caer Dathyl, staring openly at the King of all Prydain! _Anyone_ could have seen her, and likely so! The camp was just down in the valley, after all!

She felt the warmth in her cheeks as she turned to Goewin, widower of Llonio, who had managed to approach her unnoticed. With an air of practiced indifference, she said loftily, "Mm, I suppose he is handsome enough. But I daresay he is more stubborn than handsome."

Goewin smiled at her – a knowing, motherly smile. "Now then, do you _really_ mean that?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she placed her bucket on the edge of the well.

Eilonwy narrowed her eyes and looked back at the young man on the top of the wall, who was now walking dangerously towards the makeshift ladder as though he weren't concerned with his safety in the least. A surge of heated annoyance flooded her and she burst out, "Of course I mean it! Oh, but he can be absolutely infuriating at times!"

Goewin laughed outright at her fire. "Ah, but I remember so well the first year I was Llonio's wife!" she said wistfully, brushing away tears of amusement from her lashes. "I was completely in love with him, but my, how he _baffled_ me! He was forever setting out nets in the stream and baskets in the yard, or bringing home the heavens knew what and trying to make something out of nothing! It was weeks before I learned his ways, but I did."

"But that's completely different," Eilonwy protested, feeling nettled at this odd insight. After all, she had known her husband for several years prior to their recent marriage. It wasn't as if they were complete strangers! They had gone on adventures, fought against Arawn, and experienced more than most men and women their age. But where he'd gotten the idea that he needn't be concerned for his _own safety_ was beyond her comprehension, even _if_ he'd always been stubborn.

"I think," said Goewin gently, though still smiling, "That he was only trying to protect you, dear."

"But I don't _need_ protection. And Taran, of all people, should know _that_!"

"Oh, he knows. But, really, what is a marriage without the occasional argument, or the making up afterwards?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Glancing again at the lone figure on the wall, Eilonwy protested, "I wasn't going to _fall_!"

And yet, the moment the words left her lips, she realized how feeble an excuse it must have sounded. Llonio's wife was incredibly wise, and so much more interesting than all of the giggling, ridiculous court ladies of Dinas Rhydant, because she had plenty of common sense. She always had a way of putting things that made the younger girl feel as though perhaps she should rethink her words and actions, if only just a teensy bit. Not even Queen Teleria had been able to accomplish _that_.

As if on cue, Goewin took that precise moment to ask, "And how do you feel about _him_ being up there?"

A strange, pricking sensation needled deep within Eilonwy's chest. Truthfully? Oh, how she _hated_ Taran up on those partially-built battlements. There were other men to set stones and fortify walls, to rebuild the former hull of the once-grand stronghold of the Sons of Don. Taran was taking too much on himself, even though he had promised such things before he became King. She had readily agreed that he needed to finish what he started, and that he didn't need to retreat on his many, difficult promises if he wanted to keep his followers. And they both agreed that he would need to start on his tasks immediately, without wasting time. So as soon as they had made the necessary visitations to various cantrev lords and the Commots, they had returned to the Eagle Mountains to begin on Caer Dathyl's restoration before autumn. But Taran wouldn't remain on the ground while others worked, and as a result, Eilonwy worried constantly that at any moment he might slip and tumble off of those towering walls. There were no safety ropes and the work was dangerous.

Then she became angry with herself, because Goewin's words had hit home. Of course the woman wanted her to realize that she worried for Taran as much as Taran worried for her.

"Go talk to him, dear," Goewin said knowingly, touching her shoulder. "And make up with him. Would be a poor evening to sleep on opposite sides of the tent, now wouldn't it?"

Eilonwy twitched. Something pleasant curled deep within her at this implication, while at the same time she struggled against her own pride. She most certainly _did not _want to sleep on opposite sides of the tent, but she hated to admit she was partially wrong, too. After a moment, she finally turned and began to walk stiffly towards the walls, complaining, "I suppose I _should_, though he'll likely irritate me even _more_."

Goewin chose not to respond, and, even more annoyed, Eilonwy stalked over the rocky ground in the quickly gathering twilight, feeling marginally better once she was out of earshot of the well and the silence of early evening pressed upon her.

However, when she arrived at the wall and stopped beside the ladder leading to the top, she knew better than to repeat her previous mistake – which was the reason she'd steadfastly not spoken to a _certain assistant pig-keeper_ for the past _five hours_. She had only climbed up there earlier in the day to offer him a drink of water, knowing he must have been hot and thirsty from the hard work. And instead of being _grateful_, he'd furiously demanded she get back on the ground where he stated she _belonged_, before something _happened_ to her.

The ensuing, heated verbal exchange between the King and Queen of Prydain had sparked a number of chuckles from the Commot men and women who had gathered at Caer Dathyl to help raise the castle from the ashes, and quickly became the gossip of the afternoon – much to Eilonwy's horror.

So now, she waited impatiently, wondering what could _possibly_ be taking him so long. Darkness was creeping up quickly by the time he _finally_ decided to stop watching the sunset from his vantage point and descend, and when he reached the ground and stepped off the ladder, and came face to face with his wife, a tense, awkward silence ensued.

The longer it stretched, the more nervous and annoyed she became. It wouldn't do for either of them _not_ to speak, so finally, she grudgingly muttered, "I came to... apologize."

He diverted his eyes to the toes of his worn boots and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to get angry with you." And then, as if he couldn't help it, he exclaimed, "But you could have fallen, and –!"

Indignantly, she cut him off, snapping, "I would not have _fallen_! I have perfect balance!"

"It was a windy day! Anything could have happened. One wrong move, and –!"

"Oh, yes," archly, "and the same applies to you as well, Taran of Caer Dallban! I noticed you didn't seem to mind that you were walking sixty feet off of the ground all day, as though you were _invincible_!"

"I _have_ to help set the stones, Eilonwy! I swore I would rebuild Caer Dathyl, and –!"

"And what if something happened to _you_? How do you think _I_ feel, watching you from the ground? It's like watching a hawk stalking a mouse! And I just thought you might be _thirsty_, with it being so hot out today, but _no_! You had to order me off of the ladder, like I'm some silly _girl_!" The second she said it, she could see he wanted to protest, so she jabbed her finger against his hard, tanned chest and came nose to nose with him, continuing angrily, "And don't you dare say I am, because I'm _more_ than capable of climbing ladders and walking on walls and heaven knows what else, even _with_ a water bucket, and being a girl has no bearing in the matter _whatsoever_!"

And suddenly, before she quite realized it, he'd put his strong hands around her slender waist and pulled her hard against him, and proceeded to kiss her on the lips, quite firmly, in an attempt to end her tirade.

For a second, she gasped and struggled, determined not to let him win this battle by such _underhanded_ means (for it _really_ meant he was avoiding the argument!), but he only cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss, until she couldn't possibly fight against him any longer. Losing her willpower, she whimpered and sank against him. And the second she gave in, he tightened his hold on her, and she became delightfully dizzy from the heat of his mouth devouring hers.

For the longest time, they stood entwined in the darkness at the foot of the towering, monolithic wall, quite hidden from the camp of workers and followers of Taran Wanderer, now King of Prydain. She hungrily tangled her arms about his neck and shoulders, fisting her fingers in his thick hair, clinging to the warm strength she had come to rely on so desperately. She supposed it was her reliance on him that scared her the most, for she had always been so independent before they had been wed. But lately, it seemed she couldn't do anything without Taran. Perhaps that was why she became so fearful when he climbed the ladders and strode across the walls of Caer Dathyl.

Eventually, his mouth left her tingling lips and molded hotly to the smooth line of her throat, and she tilted her head back and groaned in need, her hips grinding against his until he gasped her name breathlessly against her skin and gripped her more closely. She clutched at his biceps and closed her eyes, wondering when on earth she had become so _feminine_. She'd once sworn, while on the Isle of Mona, that she would never act like a silly court lady. Besides, Taran likely wouldn't know what to do with her if she did. But she was still a _girl_, and this feminine side – this desperate need for _him_ – was somewhat frightening and intensely perfect.

It was completely dark and she could hear the sounds of night insects in the trees, their soft chirruping noises oddly soothing to her strung nerves, when he finally left her throat and placed a few, light, open-mouthed kisses across her eyelids and temple, his breath heady against her skin.

"Why don't we compromise?" he murmured, grazing his lips against the shell of her ear, his tongue darting just inside to send delicious little goose bumps down her arms.

Curse him; he always did this! He did it on _purpose_, even! Lately, when they spat about something, _any_thing, he would resort to kissing her senseless, until her very legs couldn't seem to hold her weight, and then he'd propose some ridiculous compromise that would later irritate her to no ends. For, at the time he'd suggest whatever it was he wanted, she would readily agree, mainly because she would do anything to keep his hands and his mouth moving in those hurried, wonderful patterns over her body for as long as possible. She'd never been so easily manipulated before she became his wife!

"You always do this!" she protested, tightening her slender fingers in his hair and giving him a small shove. "It's so incredibly unfair! Taran of Caer Dallban, _I'm not speaking to you_!"

She tried to turn and storm off, but he kept a firm hold on her waist and pulled her back around to face him. Chuckling in her ear and completely ignoring the threat, he whispered, "I _promise_ to be more careful up there, and not to worry you so much, if you'll promise that when you want to bring me a drink of water, you'll keep your feet firmly on the ground and ask me to come down for it."

Damn it, did he _have_ to cup and squeeze her bottom with those strong, calloused hands of his, just as he asked something of her? She couldn't _possibly_ think straight, because she could feel his arousal through his tight breeches, pressing hungrily against her, and the liquid between her legs surged hotly at the very thought of making love with him. Forcing herself to scowl, she tweaked his hair hard and snapped, "I'll climb ladders if I please, Taran!"

In frustration, he sighed heavily. "Eilonwy, do you really have any idea how much you scared me when I turned around and saw you walking down the wall with a bucket full of water? Knowing that if you fell off, you'd be killed instantly the moment you hit the ground?"

She bit her lip. In the dark, she could just see the faint starlight reflecting in his eyes; it was a moonless night, which was probably best, because she'd hate for anyone to find them so-nearly intimately involved. Especially as she was so near to ripping his breeches off. "I suppose," she mumbled, snuggling a bit closer to his chest out of a sudden grip of fear, "that it's much as how I feel when I see you walking down one of the walls, knowing that if _you_ fell off, _you'd_ be killed."

He shakily stroked her hair and whispered, "I _have_ to help. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't. Being King isn't about sitting back and ordering others to finish my promises!"

"I know, and that's one of the many things I love about you. But it still _scares_ me, Taran. I suppose that's what I hate the most – being afraid, I mean – because before, it seemed that very little scared me at all. I fought against Arawn and the Cauldron Born, but _nothing_ has scared me like watching you doing something dangerous!"

"I am sorry. I promise to be more careful."

"And will you also promise not to stand up there and watch the sunset without me? You spent an extra hour up there, after everyone else had come down for dinner! I was about ready to start shouting at you, since I couldn't _climb the ladder_!"

"I spent an extra hour up there because you were mad at me! If I recall correctly, after I ordered you down that ladder, you said you weren't speaking to me ever again." He bent and placed a warm, gentle kiss in the hollow of her throat, and she felt his lips curve when she gasped in surprise. Keeping his hands tight around her hips so she wouldn't try to move away again, he murmured, "And really; what was the point of my coming down, if the most beautiful woman in all of Prydain had already vowed not to bestow me with her attentions?"

She glowered at him and tried to pull away despite his strength. "Honestly, Taran! Flattery is worse than picking the most perfect flower in a meadow, only to discover the stem is covered in prickly thorns!"

He kept hold of her. "Well, what if, at the end of each day, we watch the sunset _together_ from the top of the walls? Until Caer Dathyl is completed, I mean. And then we can watch from the battlements. That way, I can be certain you won't fall, because I'll have my arm around you."

He was now nuzzling her neck with his nose, while one of his hands cupped and stroked her buttocks again, and she couldn't help but smile girlishly at his affection. In response, she brushed her parted lips to his firm shoulder, tasting the faint hint of salt on his skin, and suckled the curve where it met his neck. His muscles bunched beneath her touch, and she was delighted when his breath hissed in audibly and his fingers curled almost painfully against her hips. She continued to nibble up to his ear, enjoying the power that came with femininity.

"Well… I _suppose_…" she murmured, flicking her tongue on the sensitive spot at his jaw, "If we _must_ make some sort of compromise… Do you _promise_ to be careful up there?"

"I _promise_," he muttered, kissing her throat feverishly.

"Very well." She stepped back swiftly, out of his roaming, eager grasp, despite her trembling legs, and extended her hand to shake his. "I shall accept this compromise. If you will be careful, and if we can watch the sunsets from the wall together, then I shall remain on the ground and call you when I need you, rather than coming up to fetch you."

He smiled, but instead of shaking, he took her wrist, turned her hand upwards, and kissed her palm with such intensity that she nearly collapsed.

"Done," he murmured, wrapping his free arm around her waist and drawing her back against him before she fell, while kissing a slow pattern up the inside of her forearm. "You are the most _exasperating_ woman to make deals with, though."

She gave a soft cry of annoyance. "You're one to talk! You're the most stubborn, pig-headed, irritating –!"

He kissed her lips again before she could finish, and she found that it was really impossible to push away and stalk off when she was melting against him. Instead, her hands skated up his chest, feeling the muscles quiver beneath her fingertips, until she wrapped her arms about his neck.

He groaned softly and whispered against her mouth, "I don't have to sleep outside tonight, do I?"

"Do you _really_ think I would make you sleep outside the tent tonight? You've thoroughly destroyed my thoughts for the evening; I can't seem to string two sensible words together at all! I'm _still_ not going to speak to you tomorrow for that."

"Well, that's tomorrow. For now, why don't we go back to our tent?" he suggested hopefully, sliding his hands luxuriously up her torso and under her arms, his fingers brushing lightly against the sides of her breasts.

"And somehow, I don't think we'll have any trouble compromising on _that,_" Eilonwy remarked, feeling rather fluttery and irritable at the same time.

He chuckled softly. "I'm glad; I'd hate to have to have two arguments in one day with you."

"If we don't go back to our tent _now_," she said, a bit fiercely, "we'll end up on the ground _right here_!"

Grazing her collarbone with his mouth, he huskily replied, "You're also impatient."

"_Taran_!"

And instantly, he smiled and immediately complied with her request; keeping one arm around her, they began to walk back towards the forest. She tried not to trip over rocks, though it seemed difficult to walk. She could still feel her skin burning where his mouth had touched her, and she ached for more.

Fortunately, in an effort to secure some privacy, he'd insisted on having his tent set up in the woods, while the Commot folk had set up camp in the open spaces around Caer Dathyl and the valley below it. Only a few soldiers and friends, those whom he trusted explicitly, had set up tents near his – though even then, they were not so close that he felt suffocated. Eilonwy was thankful for his insistence on this, because it gave them their rare opportunities to be alone. Like now, when she could barely restrain herself from tearing his clothes off and crawling all over him.

When they reached their tent, Taran lifted one of the several blankets that had been set up over tall branches to form their humble sleeping quarters, so Eilonwy could duck inside. But before she entered, she stopped beside him and placed a hand on his arm; turning to gaze at the lonely, dark walls, she whispered, "Gwydion would be proud of you. …And I know I am."

He cupped her cheek and whispered, "It is only you I think of now, not Gwydion. You're infinitely more important to me than anything in the past _or_ the future."

She smiled, reached up, and traced a soft, feather-light line down his neck. "I _do_ like making up with you. Perhaps that's one reason I argue with you so much, you know."

His lips curved in the darkness, and together, they slipped inside their tiny haven.

**FIN**


End file.
